Die As Lovers May
by wordsmithie
Summary: Bonnie returns home following the death of her grandmother. As the last surviving Bennett witch, Bonnie feels more alone than ever before. Her melancholy is disrupted when a mysterious stranger stumbles into her life. But is he really a stranger? And why does he hold such sway over Bonnie? Victorian AU. Inspired by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu's "Carmilla."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I became obsessed with the idea of a Carmilla inspired Klonnie fic when I saw all the gorgeous themed content on tumblr during Gothic Klonnie week. I'm quite late to the party, but I couldn't get rid of the idea, so enjoy.**

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 _"But to die as lovers may - to die together, so that they may live together."_

 _\- Carmilla_ , Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

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The Bennett witches have always lived in the castle, now old, almost forgotten, a silent sentry standing at the edge of the forest that caught one by surprise after the bend in the road.

At least, it always catches Bonnie by surprise. She remembers the daily evening walks with Grams as they wound their way through the forest on their well-trodden paths, picking apart everything from literature to the spell best cast on a moonlit night.

And it is on a moonlit night that she has returned, the waxing moon smiling down at her, the prodigal daughter, heart sore, and soul weary. She grips the portmanteau tighter, taking the cold air into her lungs with a trembling breath.

Grams had been understanding. A young witch ought to see the world, she had said. She ought to learn its ways.

And so Bonnie had gone out into the world, learnt everything that had come her way, lost herself in cities and scrolls. She had been buried in the origins of spells and the future of magic when the letter came from Madame Pearce.

And now standing in front of her childhood home that is empty of Grams, Bonnie feels her heart twist with renewed anguish. A part of her wishes to turn and run into the forest, disappear into the the darkness forever, erase this feeling that she is at the edge of madness with none by her side.

But that choice is not for her. Bennett castle looms before her, awaiting its next mistress, and Bonnie cannot abandon it once more. So she begins the climb up to the beckoning gates.

Above her, the moon continues to shine down over the trees, and behind her, the air is split by a howl, vicious and full of agony, tearing at Bonnie's heart. Somewhere in the dark forest a creature knows her pain.

* * *

There is only her and Madame Pearce. And the priest, of course. The Bennett family had once been respected, revered. But that had been so long ago, that it had been a distant tale told to her when she was still in her nursery. Their fall had been sudden. Trying to protect a people that did not believe in danger was futile.

When none believe you and there is no proof, it is easy to become the fool, Grams had always said.

Bonnie's heart is numb. The sky weeps in her stead, in a gentle, apologetic drizzle that dampens her veil. Madame Pearce muffles her sobs in her handkerchief as the priest drones in Latin.

Afterwards, when the priest has closed his book with a nod and walked off, with a stumbling Madame Pearce clutching his arm, Bonnie continues to stand at the foot of the mound, eyes boring into the freshly turned soil. She watches it turn darker in little patches, growing in size. A worm wriggles through, turning in the dirt. It is aflame with the blink of an eye, before singeing away. Bonnie runs her thumb over her fingers.

The headstone will be delivered tomorrow. Sheila Bennett. Beloved Wife, Mother, and Grandmother. 1802-1876. The inscription has been running through her head all day. It is inadequate. It is all inadequate.

Her mind settles upon the roses at the edge of the garden, Grams' favourite. She beckons them over and they unravel in petals, buoyed over to her by the wind, swirling over her grandmother's resting place in a long, slow, rain-soaked dance, like so many droplets of blood dripping against the grey, overcast sky. And for the first time that day, Bonnie feels her lips lift in a small smile.

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It is the pity that Bonnie cannot stand. Madame Pearce's woebegone eyes seem to follow her everywhere with such insistence that Bonnie wishes her a thousand miles away from the castle. She berates herself. After all, it must break the older woman's heart, too. It must hurt to be the only one accompanying Bonnie to the dining table, the drawing room, the well-trodden paths around the forest. Grams had been the head of house for so long that her absence stretches through their life like a raw, gaping wound.

And yet, at times Bonnie can almost feel her there. Sitting at the piano, her fingers running through the well-rehearsed pieces, she can feel a faint touch at her shoulders, a whisper soft brushing against her back, the air kissed with a wisp of jasmine. But when her fingers stop and she gets up, turning to face the room with salt stained cheeks and checked breath, Bonnie is not surprised to find that the room is empty, the only movements the fluttering of the curtains, and the rustling of the manuscript. Her staccato pulse resumes again, almost against her will, insisting, insisting, that she is of this world still.

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After weeks, she finds herself in the East Wing, in her old nursery. She has not been avoiding it consciously, she tells herself. The responsibilities of the day have not yet taken her there. It is incredible to her how little time it has taken to tidy away the unresolved remnants of Grams' life. But now, the days stretch before her, endless, empty, demanding to be filled. Preoccupation is the one desire.

Perhaps she will reorder the castle, she thinks. Perhaps bring in new furniture, remove some of the older pieces. She might even start with this room, she thinks.

Her fingers brush over the bookcase, the foot of the bed. It is all exactly as she remembers it. It is almost too perfect to change. She touches the coverlet, light and cool under her hands, so different to that day, the memory of it simmering beneath her skin.

 _It had felt hot and oppressive against her skin. She had tossed and turned in her sleep, and eventually she had given up on sleep altogether, pushing away the heavy blankets, and sitting up so that the moonlight washed over her face._

 _She had almost screamed when she saw him standing there in the shadows._

 _He had moved forward into the light, holding a finger to his smiling lips. His hair curled around his face in waves. His smile made her feel that he was sharing a secret with her. He had a face like the statues of angels she saw in church, striking, mesmerising, a little frightening. He was the most beautiful boy Bonnie had ever seen. She had smiled back at him without meaning to._

" _Hello." His voice was soft, softer than she expected. His eyes glinted in the moonlight._

" _Hello," she replied. "Who are you?"_

" _Don't you know me?" he asked, still smiling._

 _Bonnie shook her head. She had never met him before. And yet she felt they had been friends all her life._

 _He tilted his head. "Are you sure?" He still hadn't moved._

" _I - I feel as if I know you."_

" _Yes," he said. And his eyes seemed to flash in the moonlight._

 _And then he had disappeared, and so did the moonlight, and Bonnie had felt her heart stop. There had been something heavy and hot against her, breathing, like an animal, before something pierced her throat, and there was pain, so sharp and blinding that Bonnie had felt like she would never breathe again. But she must have been able to, because the next moment she had open her mouth and screamed as loudly as she could._

Bonnie touches her hand to the base of her throat. She looks around the nursery, feeling slightly foolish, slightly hopeful. But it is as bright and empty as it was when she entered it.

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"We have such few clear days that it is a blessing to be outside today, despite it being overcast."

Bonnie nods, only half hearing Madame Pearce's words.

She can feel the forest rustling with life around her. It seems restless today, as if there is something at the heart of it that has disturbed its usual repose. Critters dart in and out between the foliage, and occasionally, the sudden, startling flap of feathers sounds overhead. The ground is soft underfoot from days of rain, and it sends up smells of fresh earth and tree root. It is during days like this when Bonnie wants to drop to her knees, dig her nails into the dirt, and pull up the magic from the earth. It might be one way to bring back something of Grams' presence.

But Madame Pearce is next to her, and Bonnie clasps her hands together, following the curving path between the trees.

A clattering up ahead makes Bonnie's heart stop. The noise splits through the forest, breaking through whatever tranquility there had been.

Bonnie just manages to dart into the trees, pulling Madame Pearce with her, when a carriage swerves around the corner, rattling at breakneck speed. It is jostling in an alarming manner that the only cause could be a broken wheel. In the next moment, it topples, the back wheel breaking off and sliding down the incline, while horse, rider, and carriage collapse in a heap.

The next moment all is quiet again. It is as if there is a spell on the forest, and for a second Bonnie has to rub her hands together to check that no magic has escaped.

Bonnie feels her feet frozen to the ground, and she is reluctant to move closer, if only because the pull she feels from the carriage is overwhelmingly strong. Something urges her, wants her to come closer, investigate. Her fingertips crackle, and she clenches her hands into fists.

She moves to step forward, but Madame Pearce's hand clutches her arm.

"Be careful, dear. You never can be certain of what's safe in this forest."

Bonnie does not want to admit that there is fear in her heart. It is not a familiar feeling. A witch ought to always know that the most fearsome thing in a forest is her. Grams words come unbidden to her mind, and despite the situation, Bonnie almost smiles.

She pats Madame Pearce's hand before pulling away. As she moves closer she sees the horse struggling, the harness pulling at its throat, its eyes almost white. Bonnie loosens the harness with a flick of her wrist and the horse relaxes.

The rider is a few yards away, lying with his neck at a sharp angle that Bonnie knows death was instantaneous. She pauses, staring, because the man's pallor seems to suggest that he has been under the touch of death for far longer than the few seconds he has lain there. His skin is a mottled grey, his face sunken. His eyes, which are open, stare at her in frozen horror. The face is emaciated, as if he has been wasting away for months.

Again, she feels the contradictory forces playing on her, urging her forward, keeping her back.

There is a groan from within the carriage and Bonnie turns, staring at it. It is on its side, one of the remaining wheels broken in half. Bonnie moves back, eyes on the carriage, her hands raised in front of her. The carriage lifts, righting itself, but with only three wheels Bonnie has to concentrate to keep it upright. Her hand is still aloft as she moves forward, the door swinging open for her to peer inside.

The figure inside is crumpled on the seat, covered by a velvet cloak, but Bonnie can see that whoever it is still breathing, still alive. She feels her own heartbeat pulse in response. She spreads her magic around the stranger, holds them up, coaxes them slowly out of the carriage door before they stumble into her arms.

The man - for it is a man - is heavier than she expected, and she stumbles, before lowering to her knees, careful not to jostle him. The cloak tips back and Bonnie's breath catches in her throat.

It is him, she is sure of it. The boy from the nursery, all those years ago.

His face is harsher now, and the angular panes of his face are dotted with stubble. His lush lips are open as he takes in short, shallow breaths. Bonnie places a hand on his chest and feels for his heartbeat. It is so faint that she almost wonders it is there at all.

She brushes his forehead, startled at how cool it is. She had dispensed with her gloves before the walk, certain that they would not run into anyone, and now she is almost glad of it because her fingers burn with him in her hands, burn much hotter than when magic is building within them. She does not dwell long on this curiosity because he stirs in her arms. His eyes flutter, and the half-dazed look in them disappears as they settle on her. They are a bleak grey, like the sky before the rain, like a lake before a storm. Like a wolf's before it feeds.

She cannot move.

His hand reaches up, his gloved fingers brushing her cheek.

"At last," he rasps. "I've found you."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for your reviews so far. Enjoy the next chapter!**

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" _...life and death are mysterious states, and we know little of the resources of either."_

 _\- Carmilla,_ Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

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They are a strange procession as they make their way up to the castle. Madame Pearce leads the way, with the prostrate body of the stranger floating behind her, while Bonnie follows, hands raised. Bringing up the rear is the horse, pulling at the now repaired carriage trundling loudly over the gravel.

Madame Pearce had been reluctant to bring their new visitor home, but the apothecary's house is more than two miles away, and even she cannot deny the encroaching darkness of twilight. The villagers are often reluctant to travel after sunset.

Bonnie's eyes are on the top of the man's head, on his curls freed from the hood of his cloak which swings from his neck.

When he had touched her face earlier as she crouched on the road she had wanted to close her eyes, turn her face into his hand.

"Why have you been looking for me?" she had murmured.

His only response had been a slow, secret smile, as if the answer was too obvious to bear repeating, before his eyes became lidded once more, and his head slumped onto her shoulder.

Now she watches his curls shift slightly in the evening breeze, the setting rays glancing off them in a shimmering halo. She longs to run her fingers through them and is only too glad for Madame Pearce's presence.

When they finally reach the gates, Robert, the groundskeeper drops his gardening shears and runs towards them, hat in hand.

"Everythin' all right, ma'am?" His curious glance flickers over the floating body.

"There was a carriage accident, Robert, and Miss Bennett thought it prudent that we care for the traveller within the castle." Madame Pearce's voice is matter of fact but there is no mistaking her disapproval of Bonnie's decision.

It is of no consequence. The only other option would have been to leave carriage and traveller on the road, and even Madame Pearce is not so indifferent to the stranger's fortune.

They leave Robert to tend to the horse and carriage and Bonnie ushers the floating body into the castle. She casts her mind to the guest bedroom, but they no longer expect visitors and it has been shut up for the better part of a year. There is, of course, Grams' room, but Bonnie's mind immediately shies away from the thought.

Her own room, of course, is out of the question. Bonnie would not have cared one way or the other, living as she has done on the outskirts of society, but Madame Pearce is a stickler for the rules of propriety and Bonnie has no desire to further increase her ire.

Bonnie lowers the visitor onto the chaise lounge in the drawing room. He lies there, his features so serene that it seems incredible to think that he had been involved in a deadly carriage accident only a half hour before. There is only his faint pallor and shortness of breath to indicate that something is amiss.

But that is nothing that cannot be remedied soon enough. Bonnie rings the bell, tells Leah to heat up some soup. With a flick of her hand, she has cushions piled around the man, and blankets covering his outstretched limbs. She clicks her fingers, and the fireplace is alive with flames, almost startled into performing its duty. She and Mrs. Pearce almost never use this room, the small sitting room at the back being more than enough for the two of them.

The man stirs, and Bonnie notes that his boots are still on. Instead of removing them with a click of her fingers, she finds herself moving to the foot of the chaise, her fingers working at the boot ties. Her movements are slow, ponderous. She slides off one boot, and goes to remove the other when she feels his gaze on her.

Flames flicker in his eyes, and the same, secret smile from earlier dances on his lips.

"I know I could not have gone to heaven. And yet here you are."

Leah enters the room, breaking the spell, holding a bowl of steaming soup on a tray.

Bonnie drops the other boot and moves to take the tray. She dismisses Leah with a nod then turns to him once more. He watches her as she sets the tray down, before picking up the bowl and spoon and moving to sit on the edge of the chaise.

The smile returns with a vengeance, and though he is indisposed, pale, and panting for breath, it has the devastating charm of a debonair rake's.

Bonnie feels the foolish need to tuck her hair behind her ears. She is thankful for the bowl of soup in her hands, the practical reason for her proximity to the stranger.

 _Don't be a fool for a man._ It is as if Grams is there in the room. _They easily make fools of us without our aiding them._

 _"_ What must have I done in my past life to deserve such an administering angel?" he muses quietly, tugging at his gloves. Though his words are careless, light, his eyes appraise her with urgency. The look is so bold and intimate that Bonnie drops her eyes. She concentrates on spooning some soup, ignoring the warmth creeping up her neck.

"I fear you are delirious, sir. You are in need of sustenance." She raises the spoon to his lips.

He watches her, wordless for a minute, before parting his lips. He grimaces slightly, as if he had not expected the warmth of the soup, but concedes to a few more spoonfuls, before his hand lifts to stay her arm.

"Thank you. That will do."

She observes him for a second. There is some colour in his cheeks, but it is a very small improvement.

"I fear my stomach cannot keep much down," he says, his smile self-deprecating.

"Very well."

Bonnie sets the soup down on the table.

"Will you have some whiskey then? You are still quite pale."

"If you insist, my lady." His eyes appear soft, though she cannot tell if it is from the effect of the firelight playing across his face.

She busies herself at the sideboard, pouring out a sliver of the liquid and bringing him the glass.

He had been reclining against the cushions, but proceeds to sit up once more, his movements slow, languid. His fingers are cold against hers.

She watches him raise the glass to his lips, his throat working as he swallows. A second passes before she realizes that he is watching her, watching her staring and Bonnie turns away. She tends to the fire, pretends it needs her attention, and lets its warmth hide her flushed cheeks.

She turns back to see him finish the last of the whiskey and lie back against the cushions with a wearied sigh, holding the empty glass against his torso. His fingers are slack, as if it is tasking him too much to keep hold of the glass.

She plucks it out his fingers.

"I will send for the apothecary tomorrow morning. I would have called on him this evening, but I am afraid no one dares to venture out after sunset around these parts."

The man sighs. "I doubt there is anything the apothecary could tell me that my physician already hasn't." His words are softened by the small smile that he directs at her.

"Are you quite certain, sir? I believe you would benefit from a visit."

"I am more than certain," he huffs with laughter. "I have lived with this condition all my life."

Bonnie falls silent. She cannot insist on bringing the apothecary if he does not wish it, and yet she feels that it would be wise to do so. The carriage accident must surely have taxed him. She wants to inquire after his condition but dares not intrude.

It irks her, the fact that she keeps second-guessing herself around this stranger.

"I must thank you for rescuing me."

His words break through her reverie, and she blinks at him. He lies there looking up at her with glittering eyes.

"You said you were looking for me," she says.

A pause. "Did I?"

She nods silently.

His cold hand rises to take hers, his fingers caressing the inside of her palm. The touch sends something slithering down her spine and she shivers. The tips of his fingers brush against her palm lines, his hand massages her, clasps her wrist, tugs her down, and she is next to him once more, his eyes pulling her forward, his curls shining under the firelight, begging her to run her fingers through them, his lips curving-

The door opens and Bonnie pulls back.

Madame Pearce bustles into the room. "Well, my dear, the guest room is ready and waiting. I've not started a fire there yet, as the rooms seems to be quite warm. As it is, I thought I had better check with you, and - oh!-" She pauses, staring at the man. "I did not expect you to be up, sir."

The man nods at Madame Pearce, a gesture that strikes Bonnie as regal.

"It is all thanks to the careful attentions of my nurse here." His glance brushes over Bonnie again, who rises to her feet, putting some distance between herself and the chaise.

"Thank you, Madame Pearce." Bonnie clears her throat. "I believe it would be best to have the fire going, after all."

"Very well, my dear. I shall get it ready. Don't tarry too long." With a cautioning glance, the woman leaves.

"I think I had better show you to your room, sir," Bonnie says, turning with reluctance to face the man.

He shifts, lowering his legs onto the floor, gripping the side of the chaise as he gets up. His movements are jerky, faltering, but for some reason Bonnie cannot move closer to help him.

He straightens, his breathing slightly laboured.

"Please, call me Klaus." A corner of his mouth lifts in that overly familiar smile.

Bonnie can feel her spine stiffen. "You may call me Miss Bennett."

His chuckle is like velvet against her skin. Her neck prickles some more, whether in indignation or satisfaction she cannot tell.

He moves forward, then stops, grasping the back of a nearby chair. Again, Bonnie feels the conflicting forces, urging her towards him, holding her back. She remembers the old cane in the coatroom. That will do for now. That will allow her to continue pretending that it isn't fear that keeps her away from him. Fear of him...and of herself.

The cane sails through the door, coming to bob by his right hand. He glances down at it, pausing for a second before curling his fingers around the handle.

His eyes find hers. "A witch?"

Bonnie says nothing, stands ramrod straight. That fact is no longer a welcome piece of news around these parts.

"Well, that explains it," he says with a tilt of his head.

She cannot help her curiosity. Her brow furrows.

"You must have cast a spell over me."

"I would never do anything of the sort, sir," Bonnie bites out.

His laughter is unrestrained but gravelly, as if he does not find much reason to laugh. "My lady, I am only too happy to be bewitched."

Bonnie knows she should be disapproving, but the glare she summons is half-hearted. She turns on her heels, leading him upstairs. Their progress is slow. His breathing already strained, only becomes more laboured as they make their way up. When they finally reach the door of the guest bedroom he leans against the wall, head falling back to rest on the crumbling stone.

She frowns up at him.

"Are you certain you don't want me to call for the apothecary?"

He looks at her through lidded eyes, a faint smile touching his lips. "I am certain. Your care is more than enough."

Bonnie can only stare.

He chuckles, pushing himself off the wall. "You look quite puzzled." His fingers find hers, gasp them in a cool grip. His eyes hold hers as he lifts her hand to brush his lips over her knuckles. His touch is feather light and yet she finds she cannot move.

"Goodnight, sweet Bonnie."

It is only after he has disappeared through the doorway and she has made her way downstairs, heart beat erratic and mind half dazed, that she realizes that she never told him her name.

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 **Please review :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**It is actually a dark and stormy night right now, and my gothic heart is super happy. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.**

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" _But dreams come through stone walls, light up dark rooms, or darken light ones, and their persons make their exits and their entrances as they please, and laugh at locksmiths."_

 _\- Carmilla,_ Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

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"Are you alright, my dear?"

Bonnie pulls herself to a stop in the sitting room doorway, face to face with Madame Pearce.

"Ah." She clears her throat. "Yes. Yes, I am."

The lady looks doubtful. 'Perhaps you ought to take some of that soup that Leah's made."

Bonnie nods, absent-minded, then shakes her head. "I need to go check on that rider first."

She had moved the rider beneath the underbrush after Madame Pearce's insistence that she would not have a decaying corpse on the Bennett grounds. Bonnie had been far too preoccupied with the carriage's resident at the time to protest, and she had quickly done the older woman's bidding. The thought comes back to her now, haltingly, that she had planned to send a note to the inspector. The events of the early evening feels like a lifetime ago.

"Perhaps you had better not go there now, dear." Madame Pearce's brow is furrowed, her eyes searching. "Are you quite sure you are alright? You look rather faint."

Bonnie nods again, but she can't quite articulate her response, not through the haze of confusion in her head. There is something unfurling within her, an old dislodged memory, the barely recognisable scent of something long-hidden.

She tries to shake her head, stand firm. "No, I really must-" but the lady is pulling her by the arm, closer to the fireside, and the heat is pressing on Bonnie, making her eyelids droop, her limbs heavy, and she succumbs to the warmth of the chaise.

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The dark is rent by the sound of pain, or perhaps anger, though none would linger long enough in the woods to discern the difference. Nothing much moves in the forest freely at this time of night. The creeping shadows are more than just those of the stretching branches, and the moon is rarely willing to offer aid to anything foolish enough to risk its life. Anything that moves does so with the certainty that it will be either predator or prey.

Another distant howl, and Bonnie jolts awake in her bedroom, her covers stifling her with their warmth, her tongue parched and sticking to the roof of her mouth. She drags herself from out under the covers, disoriented, limbs heavy, stumbling to the stand where her jug of water sits. The water is lukewarm, not nearly cool enough, and she turns, taking slow steps to the wide windows. She pulls aside the lace curtains, opening the doors to let the night air wash over her. It is bliss. The cold darkness kisses her skin, raising goosebumps, and she leans over the balcony railing. Her eyes run over the silhouettes of the trees under the moving clouds, her mind twinging with the memory of a howl, a nightmare that rendered her sleep restless and unsatisfying.

She is still heavy-lidded with slumber, legs too weak to hold her up, and she stumbles back to her bed, leaving the windows wide open behind her to let the night wind blow through her room. Her covers are cooler now as she slides between them, their friction delicious against her skin, and she sinks once more into a half-slumber.

It is not long before she is dreaming again. Dreaming of a presence behind her, hovering at the edge of her bed, and for a moment she does not move, enjoys the thought that someone might be watching over her.

When she does turn her guardian laughs softly under his breath, caresses a hand against her cheek, runs soft fingers over her smiling lips.

"Good morning, my darling," he whispers, and he sounds closer than he is. He bends over her and Bonnie sighs. This is what she wants. She wants him close, as close as can be, his breath fluttering hot over her face, the heat of him making her skin prickle under her nightgown. She reaches out an arm, pulling him atop her, and he lowers himself onto her with a quiet growl.

"You are hard to resist," his words whisper against her skin, almost angry, the stubble on his chin scratching her cheeks.

She murmurs wordlessly, uncertain of why he should try to resist at all, arching up against him, her skin on fire as the thin fabric of her nightgown rubs between them.

"I'm not certain why I'm trying to resist you myself." He laughs again, and Bonnie thinks that it is the loveliest and cruelest sound she has ever heard.

His fingers sink into her hair, and his lips are on hers, hot, wicked, mind-numbing. Bonnie wants to forget everything but this, everything but his lips. But then his tongue pushes into her mouth, and she gasps at the thought that there could be something more wicked than his lips. It drives her mindless, pulls whimpers from deep within her as he chuckles against her lips.

"It's alright, darling," he murmurs between kisses. "Let me hear you." His lips travel over her chin, down her neck, his fingers tightening in her hair to tug her head back. His tongue, hot and wet, slips out to slide languorously up her throat. Bonnie trembles underneath him, fingers tightening in his hair.

"Klaus," she pants. Klaus? Him? She's dreaming of him?

"Mm," he murmurs, his head moving under her chin, travelling further down. His lips cover her breast, and Bonnie gasps.

"You are delectable," he says, and she feels certain his breath will set her on fire. He moves up, his lips finding hers again, his hips grinding against her, and she jolts at the heat of him against her thigh. She moves against him with a vicious need, and though she relishes in the secrecy of the dream, it still makes her face burn with shame.

Klaus - for it is Klaus - tugs her closer, pulls her closer, harder against him. She is pinned to the bed, hips writhing against his, chest moving against his.

"I never dreamt - I never dreamt I would have you in my arms," he whispers. He kisses down her jaw, teeth nipping at her skin, tongue caressing her neck. He murmurs her name, and it is like a chant in her head, the timbre of his voice, her name in his mouth, all swirling into one sinful ritual. The need rising inside her makes her shudder, takes her breath away. Her fingers brush his head as it moves at her jaw, his low growls thrumming against her neck, her skin reaching a fever temperature that she feels the need to tear away every bit of clothing.

The change from pleasure to pain is sudden. A white, hot piercing stabs her at the base of her throat, and she jolts against her dream visitor. He hunches over her, unmoving, and Bonnie struggles, tries to dislodge him.

"No!" The word tears out of her lips, a gritty, vicious cry that rips through her dream. But it is no dream. The pain is burning through her and Bonnie clutches at her throat, crying out, expecting rivulets of blood. But she can feel nothing, not even the trace of a scratch. Neither can she feel the presence of anyone atop her.

When she opens her eyes and sits up, body aflame, blinking against the darkness, it is to see a wolf slinking towards her bedroom door and then disappear through it as if it was made of nothing more than smoke.

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	4. Chapter 4

**In typical me fashion, it's taking almost a year to complete uploading this fic. Rest assured, though, that these updates will be more frequent now.**

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" _I have been in love with no one, and never shall . . . unless it should be with you."_

 _-Carmilla,_ Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

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Bonnie can hardly concentrate as she accompanies the inspector through the forest. The first thing she had done when she had woken that morning was to examine her neck to find some trace of the...attack. She could not deny that she had felt foolish, being so ruffled over something as trivial as a dream - no, a nightmare - but the pain had felt so real, so immediate that she hadn't been able to resist checking for some evidence. But there had been nothing. Not even a scratch.

Bonnie raises a hand to her throat now, rubbing at the base of it, at the memory of where a wound should be.

"Are you feeling alright, Miss Bennett?" Inspector Alaric casts a concerned look from under his prickly brows. "Would you like to rest for awhile?"

Bonnie looks up, silent for a moment, before attempting a smile. "No, it is quite alright, Inspector. It is best that we continue on, I think."

When Bonnie had finally made her way downstairs that morning, it was to be greeted by Madame Pearce with news of the inspector's impending visit. There was nothing like a cadaver to spur a lady into proactivity.

"I was surprised to find that you were able to oblige us at such short notice, Inspector." It is Bonnie's turn to examine the other's countenance. His face is pleasant but composed, carefully shuttered as it always is. The way Bonnie has always remembered it.

"Well, you must admit, my dear, that these are slightly strange circumstances." He smiles, stressing the word "slightly." Never mind the fact that whenever he visits the Bennett household it is always under strange circumstances. "I thought I had better pay a visit myself."

Bonnie nods and turns away. The inspector's words only makes the uneasiness inside her sit a little heavier. Ever since the visitor - Klaus, she cannot even think his name without feeling her cheeks burn - fell into her arms, she has not been able to rid herself of the shadowing sensation that things are not quite as they should be. And yet if she were asked to name this feeling of wrongness she would be at a loss. It is as if a constant cloud hovers over her, darkening every footstep, muddying every thought.

Bonnie stays near the edge of the gravel road, keeping her eyes peeled for the turn in the path where she had hid the coachman's corpse. She leads the way, striding to the bend, suddenly eager to be finished with this grim mission. But as she draws nearer to the spot her steps slow. She pushes aside the tangled, low-hanging branches in one swoop, not bothering to hide her abilities in front of the inspector. As an old acquaintance of the Bennett family he is one of the few who does not seem to find her skills repulsive.

"I don't understand," Bonnie murmurs, staring through the dense foliage, almost trying to will the cadaver into appearing. "This was where we left him."

"Are you quite certain? Might it not have been another spot?"

Bonnie shakes her head, still staring at the underbrush. "No, I am certain this is it. Madame Pearce was right here, she pointed out this spot."

The inspector's shoes crunch over the gravel as he paces up and down the road, eyes narrowing in scrutiny.

"I suppose it is possible that he rolled over the incline. There was some rather heavy rain last night."

Bonnie frowns, and her mind scrambles to bring up the memory of splattered windows, or the rushing sound of rain as she slept. Instead, all that floods her mind is embarrassment.

"Perhaps," she murmurs, turning to hide her flushed cheeks from the inspector.

"I might return with a few of my men later in the day. We will let you know if we come across anything. I hope it is alright if I call in at the castle later today?"

There is something cautious in the inspector's voice that makes Bonnie turn back to him.

"Of course," she says, and then realizes that it will be his first visit since the death of her grandmother.

There is a short pause before he gives a brief nod, tips his hat to her, and walks off.

* * *

"Well, dear, what did he say? Did he see the body? Does he not think it strange? Did he not accompany you back? I say, that is very inconsiderate indeed, especially when there are coachmen dropping like flies around here."

Madame Pearce's chain of questioning ends in blustery indignation at Bonnie's expense.

"It was one coachman," Bonnie replies, half smiling. Then her smile drops. "And we couldn't find him."

"Couldn't _find_ him? Whatever do you mean?"

"He wasn't there where we left him." Bonnie lowers herself onto the chair by the table. They are in their usual sitting room, with the weak autumn light streaming through the bay windows, and the fire crackling merrily in the grate. Bonnie stretches her legs, crossing her stockinged feet near the heat of the flames.

"But - wherever could he be? He can't have been magicked away."

Bonnie gives her a single, wordless glance before resting her head on the back of the chair.

"Now, Bonnie, you know what I mean."

"The inspector seems to think the body might have slid down the incline due to all the rain last night."

"Oh." That stops the lady for a minute. "Yes, well, I suppose - I can see how that might be the case."

At least someone else recalls something of last night's weather. Though it irks Bonnie that she cannot recall this for herself.

"Is -" Bonnie clears her throat. "How is our visitor doing?"

"It would seem he is still sleeping," Mrs Pearce remarks, with a disapproving sniff. "I really would call that physician if I were you, my girl. Leah knocked on his door earlier to inquire about lunch but there was no answer."

Bonnie nods, heart sinking a little. She had hoped to question him at lunch. Curiosity swelled in her when she was around him, and yet her questions seemed to lodge in her throat in his presence. Perhaps his prolonged absence was a boon. It would give her some time to clear her head, to remember herself.

There's a short knock at the door, and Leah's ruffle-capped head peaks through.

"Oh, Miss Bonnie, you're back." She slips through the doorway to give a small bob before continuing breathlessly. "You will never guess, miss, but I've found some old things of your grandmam's."

Bonnie sits up in her chair. Madame Pearce's eyes quickly flit to hers.

"Of my grandmother's? Are you quite certain?"

"Yes, miss." Leah is beaming with her news.

"But…" Bonnie frowns. "I was sure we had accounted for all of her belongings."

"Well, miss, it's a small chest – easily missed - I found it in the back of the old guest bedroom in the East Wing - yesterday, when we prepared the room for the visitor, in point of fact. I've had Robert place it in your room, miss."

"Very well, thank you, Leah." Bonnie stands up, smooths her skirts, and turns to Madame Pearce. "Would you mind terribly if I cut our talk short?"

The lady, who had just taken a sip of tea, shakes her head, squeaking through pursed lips. "Of - of course not, my dear." She coughs. "I shall see you at lunch, I suppose?"

Bonnie rushes out of the room, barely managing a nod in response.

* * *

She feels like a child, tripping through the long hallways at an almost run. It embarrasses her, this urgency, but at the same time she cannot pretend it away, because this extra remnant, this as yet undiscovered surprising part of her grandmother makes it feel like another stolen moment with her.

She has to pass the guest bedroom where he's sleeping and her feet slow of their own accord, almost stopping though she manages not to.

For a castle that seems to have been asleep for the past few weeks, it is now unraveling with mystery and surprises. She can only wonder how much it will unravel.

She reaches her room, and her heartbeat slows down when she sees the small trunk awaiting her at the foot of her bed.

It is small, but heavy. It has no embellishments. It is a plain, faded trunk, and if Bonnie's suspicions are correct, she will most likely find aged household receipts or some other woefully quotidian detail about her grandmother's activities. All the same she cannot help brushing over the metal lock with a soft longing.

And that's when she realizes that there is no key. Leah would certainly have mentioned it if she had found one, but Bonnie looks around for one anyway, even peering under the bed to make sure she has not missed it in her eagerness.

But there is nothing. Only the box sitting there, staring at her, as if to say "Well. What now?"

Bonnie tries to pry it open, feels the warmth of the magic seep from her fingertips, slide over the metal hinges. It seems to bulge, there is even a tiny creak, but there is nothing beyond that. The chest refuses to open.

* * *

It is not unusual that they change for dinner. But Bonnie does not usually take so long at the dressing table, fussing over her hair, or taking such care choosing a dress from her wardrobe. She avoids her own eyes in the mirror, not caring to examine the reason for her sudden change in habits. She twirls her fingers and her hair coils atop her head in soft curls, kept in place by small rosebuds. The deep pink of her gown seems to glow in the candlelight, and for a moment Bonnie allows herself to imagine that she isn't Bonnie Bennett, lone witch, and grieving granddaughter. She allows herself to imagine that, instead, she is just a girl with a dancing heart and flushed cheeks, a girl who might twirl in a rose coloured dress under the glittering lights of a thousand candles. A girl who need only worry about whether she will let her suitor take her by the hand when she is wearing no gloves.

Bonnie clasps her hands together and rubs them softly. When she does look in the mirror, the girl she sees is not the one in her mind. This one has eyes as heavy as her heart, and her pink dress seems to barely hide the sense of fragility that she feels. She sees only what she wants to blot out, what she cannot change.

With a jerk of her hand she snuffs out the candle.

He only appears when they retire to the parlour for coffee, following an entire hour at the dinner table when Bonnie had tried to pretend to herself and Madame Pearce that she was not disappointed.

His dark eyes find her as soon as he enters the rooms, and all thoughts of lost girls and weighted hearts flee from Bonnie's mind.

"Good evening." He bows deeply before taking a seat, leaning the cane Bonnie had given him earlier against the chair's arm. His brown curls come alive in the light of the fire, sitting in fluid contrast against his black coat.

"Good evening, sir," Madame Pearce says stoutly, taking the cup of coffee that Bonnie floats in front of her. "I am sorry that you missed dinner. I can ring for Leah and have a tray brought for you."

"Please, do not trouble yourself on my account. I am quite alright, I assure you. A cup of coffee should be perfectly fine." His eyes follow Bonnie's movements as she directs the coffee to pour itself into a cup, before sending it, sitting in its saucer, to where he sits. He takes the cup and saucer with the slow smile that is already starting to become familiar to her.

And yet every movement of her own seems new and alien to Bonnie. Her fingertips seem to shy from his glance when they brush her skirt down, and the skin of her throat aches at the dream-memory of those kisses.

It is as if he can see into her mind because his eyes linger on her throat for a minute. Bonnie's breathing slows. She is captivated by the curl of his mouth that hides behind the rim of the cup.

"Now, tell me, my dear." Madame Pearce's voice breaks through the haze. "Did you have better luck with the chest after lunch?"

It takes a moment for Bonnie to realize that the lady is speaking to her and not to their visitor. The locked, unrelenting chest had been more of a disappointment than she had anticipated, and she had excused herself from lunch, insisting that a long walk would do her good. In truth, she had only wanted to avoid Madame Pearce's questions.

Bonnie shakes her head now in reply. It hadn't been for want of trying, but it had stubbornly refused to reveal its contents.

"A mysterious chest, two lovely ladies in a castle. It all makes for a very intriguing plot for a novel, don't you think?"

Bonnie turns to see Klaus smiling over his cup.

"Don't forget the strange visitor." Bonnie's voice is unexpectedly sharp.

He chuckles and raises his cup to her. "Quite right," he says, taking a sip. "Though you will see, by and by, that I am not so strange."

Madame Pearce clears her throat, and Bonnie gratefully breaks the gaze.

"You will forgive my impudence, sir, but who, pray tell, is your family? From where do you hail?"

Klaus is silent for a moment before answering. "I beg your pardon, ma'am. It is a subject which causes me some grief. You see, I suffered the passing of my father recently."

There is a soft gasp from Madame Pearce, and her eyes quickly flit in Bonnie's direction before turning back to Klaus.

"Allow me to offer my condolences, sir."

Klaus bows his head. "Thank you. He was the only family I had. It has been a... trying time."

"Were you on your way to his funeral when the carriage broke down?"

Bonnie's question has Madame Pearce turning to her in shock. Bonnie doesn't know what has come over herself, and if the look Madame Pearce gives her is any indication, the lady is wondering the same thing. Bonnie cannot quite voice her frustration, but she knows that it stems from the carefully controlled demeanour of their guest. Every calculated movement, every ponderous turn of the head seems well-rehearsed. Nothing seems to surprise him.

He looks at her now with his carefully shuttered eyes, and his lips are almost on the brink of a smile. Which is puzzling, considering her question.

"No, my lady," he murmurs. "I was finishing up some business with his lawyers. It has been some time now since I buried my father."

Bonnie tries not to blink as he stares at her. The symmetry of their situations is striking, as is the evasiveness of his words.

Madame Pearce clears her throat once again. "I uh...hesitate to be the bearer of more ill-favoured news, sir, but I am afraid your coachman has vanished."

Klaus shakes his head. "I am not surprised. He did not seem particularly forthcoming with his help when I hired him. He is a carriage-hand from the stables at Matlock Inn, not 7 miles from here, and I do not believe they pay their employees well. They are probably prone to abandoning their patrons."

"Ah. No, I mean, to say that – well, you see, when we found you yesterday, he was – that is to say-"

"He was dead." They turn to stare at Bonnie again. "In fact, it looked as if he had not been particularly healthy when he was alive."

"Bonnie! My dear, I must say, this is not at all proper conversation for a young lady."

"That may be, Madame Pearce, but considering the state of affairs, I think we can temporarily forego what is "proper."

Klaus coughs into his cup, and Bonnie is almost certain that he is laughing at her. Almost. When he looks up again his face is the picture of composure.

"Perhaps the force of the crash was fatal? As to the state of his health when he was alive, I really cannot say. You see, I only made his acquaintance two days ago when I hired the carriage."

"Yes, you said." Bonnie pauses. "And this morning, when I accompanied the inspector to search for his corpse -" she ignores Madame Pearce's wince - "we discovered that it had vanished."

"Vanished?"

"Vanished, sir."

"Puzzling, indeed," he muses. "I did not know corpses were in the habit of playing hide and seek."

Bonnie clenches her teeth, tries to swallow down her ire with a sip of coffee. His eyes are most definitely lit with amusement, and she can feel her own fire up in irritation.

"Ah, you never told us about your family, sir," Madame Pearce reminds him.

Klaus smiles politelyover the rim of his cup. "You are correct, ma'am. We come from an old name, Mihăiță, now with a crumbling family line. My mother passed when I was but an infant - my father really was all the family I could boast."

Madame Pearce tsks sympathetically.

Bonnie is very still.

"And what may I ask is your story?" He smiles at Madame Pearce, and it is easy for Bonnie to imagine him in a ballroom, charming the society mamas into letting their daughters dance with him all night. "Has this castle always housed two lovely roses?"

To Bonnie's astonishment Madame Pearce giggles. Bonnie cannot remember when the lady last giggled.

"You are too kind, sir," she smiles, before sipping her coffee.

"Oh, I am never accused of that, I assure you." His lips curve in a slow smile. "Though – I must ask, and I hope I am not being impudent, but are the two of you related?" His eyes flit between Bonnie and Madame Pearce.

"Oh, oh no! You see this castle belonged to Bonnie's grandmother. I knew Sheila from our school days, and she was kind enough to invite me to live with her in our twilight years."

"I see," Klaus murmurs, his puzzled eyes trailing to Bonnie.

"My grandmother passed away not three weeks ago," she says, answering his unspoken question.

"Ah." Her answer seems to have thrown him. Of all the things that she thought might surprise him, this is certainly not it.

"Did you know my grandmother?"

There is a beat of silence before he answers. "No. No I did not. I was simply struck by the similarity of our situations."

Bonnie stays silent, waits for him to say something politely banal.

He frowns. When he does speak, it is with the slowness that comes with untangling thoughts. "It is not easy to lose a...loved one so young. The world appears both vast and miniscule afterwards." He is no longer looking at Bonnie, his eyes fixed instead on the flames. Despite their warm glow, his gaze holds an underlying coolness.

He moves to set his cup down on the small table next to him. "Excuse me," he says, taking up the cane and slowly rising to his feet. "I am getting rather tired. I believe I will retire."

Madame Pearce coughs, and Bonnie realises with a jolt that the lady is still in the room.

"It is time we all retired." Madame Pearce stands up, gathering her ruffled skirts in her hands, and turns to Bonnie. "Come, my dear."

Bonnie stands too, though her heart sinks. She feels she has barely scratched the surface of the mystery that is their guest.

Her feelings must show on her face because as she passes him he takes her hand and bends closer to whisper in her ear. "I fear that you think me strange still."

"I must admit I do not begin to understand you at all." The words slip out of her mouth without permission.

His low chuckle seems to caress her skin. "Understanding will certainly come. I am optimistic. As someone once said to me, it is not naive to hope." He guides her out into the hallway, letting the softly spoken words linger between them.

Bonnie feels her brow knot. The words are like a faint spark in the deep recesses of her mind.

"Till tomorrow," he murmurs, and with a final press of his hand, he dissolves into the shadows of the hallway.

* * *

 **Please review :)**


	5. Chapter 5

***checks my author's note from previous chapter* Hmm, it would seem I'm a lying bitch. Sorry, friends. Life happened. Anyways, this is all written up and polished so we'll all get regular updates.**

* * *

" _...if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours…"_

 _\- Carmilla_ , Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

* * *

 _It was after dinner, and they had been walking through the rose garden._

" _I don't believe we will be seeing much more of each other," he'd said with a soft smile._

 _She'd looked up at him with some trepidation. "You can't be certain of that."_

 _He laughed, turning to stroke the petals of a half-blown rose._

" _I am certain that my father and your grandmother will try very hard to make it so." His fingers travelled down the length of its stem. "I am only surprised that it has taken them this long." With a twitch of his fingers, he snapped the stem._

 _He turned to her, his soft smile belying the insistent gaze of his eyes. "Won't you have a rose, Bonnie?"_

 _She had taken it, heart troubled. "But – perhaps, they might reconcile their differences? We could bring about a new age."_

 _His sharp laughter cut through the sweet softness of the night._

" _Bonnie, you cannot possibly believe that." He tilted his head at her, eyebrows angled incredulously. "Sometimes I think you are the most naive creature I have ever met."_

" _It is not naive to hope," she bit out._

 _He had chuckled, shaking his head. "But it is. Though -" he lowered his voice, bending his head closer to her. "With you declaring it in such a disarming manner – and in defense of our friendship – it is difficult not to be persuaded." The light from the balcony washed over his curling lips._

" _I do believe you are mocking me," she muttered, her fist tightening, inadvertently pricking her finger on a thorn. She gasped, letting the rose fall to the ground._

" _Mocking you?" He grasped her hand, pulling it up to examine the wounded finger._

 _The moon hid behind a cloud and the wind quietly stole away as his mouth closed around her finger. He sucked at the small cut, and his eyes stayed locked on hers, hard, urgent, challenging her to pull her hand away._

 _She didn't._

 _He straightened up, still holding onto her hand. "Mocking you?" He tugged her closer. "Only a little," he whispered, before crushing the words between their lips._

* * *

She wakes to the rain beating against the windowpane.

In her chest, there is an ache, as if she has lost something, or remembered something that has been lost to her. The dream... it had been so vivid. So real. So real that she almost finds herself wondering if it is a memory.

But it can't be, she thinks, brushing trembling fingers against her lips. She does not like what has come over her of late. It is as if there is another self, just underneath her skin, waiting to come out.

The knock at the door makes her jump.

"Oh, I was hoping you'd be up, Miss!," Leah says, bustling in. "It's just that the inspector's here, and he says he needs to speak to you."

"Oh. Tell him I will be right down, Leah."

Leah bobs in reply before disappearing downstairs.

Outside, a clap of thunder sounds.

* * *

"Miss Bennett, good morning."

The inspector places his cup and saucer on the table and stands, bowing slightly.

Bonnie dips a quick curtsy.

"Inspector. I didn't expect to see you so soon."

"Neither did I you." He picks up the teapot and pours a fresh cup of tea, handing it to Bonnie.

She takes it with a murmur of thanks, just managing to restrain herself from pelting him with questions.

"I'm afraid," the inspector begins, stirring his tea, "that things are not as straightforward as we first believed."

Bonnie waits. For a moment there is only the sound of the crackling fire, and the tinkling of the teaspoon as the inspector stirs his tea.

"Truth be told, I am not sure how I should broach this with you, if I should be discussing this with you at all."

"Inspector." Bonnie interrupts with a wry smile. "I receive my fair share of molly-coddling from Madame Pearce."

A faint smile of acknowledgement flits across the inspector's face. "All the same..." he murmurs. "But it is perhaps best that you know."

Bonnie waits, gripping the handle of her teacup to hide her impatience.

"Well, the thing is -" The inspector brushes a hand over his mouth, places his cup and saucer on the table. He looks at her. "We've found the coachman's body."

"Oh. Well, that's..." Bonnie had been about to say "good" but the inspector's voice had suggested otherwise.

"Rather – we found a part of his body. A foot."

Bonnie feels her eyebrows jump. "Good lord. Did an animal get to him?"

The inspector tilts his head. "The...ah. Well, there are no traces of bite marks."

"Then..."

"It looked...to have been _ripped_ from the leg."

"How can that be? Are you certain?"

"There certainly weren't any bite marks. Believe me, I've seen animal attacks before. This -" The inspector reaches for his cup and takes a long swig of his tea. "This was no animal."

"But then..." Her unfinished question hangs in the air. Clearly, the inspector is as dumbfounded as she is.

"How did you know it was him? The coachman?"

The inspector's gaze focuses again. "He had a tattoo on his foot. The innkeeper was able to confirm it was him. Which reminds me." He leans closer. "The innkeeper told me that he saw your visitor and the coachman getting into a rather heated argument. Said he flew into a rage at the man before they set off."

Bonnie frowns. "Well, he didn't seem impressed with the man's services last night..."

"I would be careful, miss."

"What are you saying? Are you implying that our visitor has it in him to rip a man to shreds?"

The inspector winces. "Of course not. But you must admit, he is a complete stranger. And you are all alone."

"I am not all alone."

"Be that as it may. And I certainly do take heart knowing that you are more level-headed than other ladies in your station... But all the same, I would urge you to take care. Know that I am at your disposal."

"Of course," Bonnie murmurs. The inspector's insistence, his concern for her well-being has suddenly made it difficult for her to speak.

The inspector looks at her for a beat longer, then nods. "Well, then. I will be in touch. Good day, my dear."

* * *

It comes to her when she is in the chapel that evening.

The chest. It will have been charmed closed with a memory spell. The memory of touch. She doesn't know when she'd last come across one. It's one of the older, "quainter" spells as her grandmother used to call it, but once she thinks of it she cannot get it out of her head.

In less than thirty minutes, she is in her bedroom again, and in her hand, a white lace glove that belonged to her grandmother. She strokes it between her fingers for a minute, then pulls it on over her right hand. It fits perfectly. Her lace covered fingers reach out and brush over the iron lock.

It clicks open.

* * *

 **Please review :)**


	6. Chapter 6

"...love is always selfish, the more ardent the more selfish..."

 _\- Carmilla,_ Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

* * *

 _April 3_ _rd_ _, 1870_

 _I have told Alaric_ _about my suspicions, but he insists on brushing them off until he has more substantial proof. As if the last two victims aren't proof enough._

 _But so it is. It is not as if it was particularly easy for me to digest. There is so little known about them that - that one feels quite alone in this battle. Quite afraid._

 _But I shall rally. A Bennett has never backed down from a battle, and I am not one to break with tradition._

\- From the journals of Sheila Bennett

* * *

When Bonnie opens the chest lid, her heart stops. Because inside is anything but receipts. Instead, there are clusters of envelopes tied together in fraying ribbon, and two journals bulging with yellow-edged paper. Before she can take one out and start perusing however, there is a knock at the door.

Bonnie quickly closes the lid and shoves the chest under her bed. She isn't ready to share this little bit of her grandmother. Not just yet.

"Come in."

It is Madame Pearce.

"My dear, I've just come to tell you that I will be off to Mrs Lunsden's for a quick visit. It seems her daughter has fallen ill again, and I thought I'd bring them a new bottle of the tonic we made. You will be alright, won't you?"

The lady's smile is so kind, her gaze so attentive that Bonnie almost feels guilty about hiding the chest, about the secret elation she feels at the prospect of having an entire evening to herself to discover its contents.

She nods. "But, of course. You mustn't worry about me," she says, and ushers the lady to go about her business. "I will be just fine."

* * *

Bonnie stands in front of the castle doors waving as the carriage trundles away on a ribbon of moonlit road that is swallowed up by the forest. The castle feels strangely empty when she shuts the door behind her. She has felt that it has been empty and gaping since the death of her grandmother, but it is only now that she realizes how much she has come to depend on Madame Pearce's presence. While the lady's incessant chatter had grated on her nerves at times, she cannot deny that it has been some comfort.

She is making her way down the hall, in the direction of the stairs when the soft chain of notes makes her check her step. No one else other than Bonnie touches the piano. Or at least, that has been the case since Sheila's death. When her grandmother had been alive, not a day had gone by when the lady had not sat at the keys and coaxed out a sonata or charmed the keys to play a waltz while she and Bonnie twirled around the room.

But this is no waltz. It is sorrowful. She knows it. "The Dying Swan." Soft, sweet, and haunting, and it immediately makes Bonnie's throat constrict. She makes her way to the back room where the piano sits, blindly, as if pulled by an invisible string.

She had not known what to expect but when she finds him there she is not surprised. His shoulders sit in a strict line, in contrast to his fluid fingers making the melody bleed from the keys in light, gliding, wistful notes. They tear at her heart. She stands, entrapped, tangled in the confusion of sounds that are both sorrowful and hopeful. She marvels at how his hands move across the keys, his callused digits taking on an unexpected grace as he plays. A heavy ring sits on the middle finger of his right hand, its insignia, a coiled, gleaming serpent. It catches the light as he plays. When the music eventually stops, she is still frozen.

"'Le Cygne.' Eventually 'The Dying Swan.'" He stands, turning to face her with a slow smile. "It was not _intended_ to be a dying swan, but certain popular interpretations have made it so."

It only takes a step, and he is directly before her, another step and she'd be flush against his chest.

"Strange, is it not? Man's preoccupation with death." He angles his head, his eyes running over her face.

Normally, she would resent such scrutiny, but there is something within her that ignites under his gaze.

"It would be stranger if man were _not_ preoccupied with it," she replies.

His smile is like a wolf's that has chosen its prey.

And yet she is not afraid. She feels this is exactly where she wants to be, where she belongs. As his target, as the centre of his attention. It is her rightful place.

He lifts a hand to trace a fingertip over her temple, his digits catching at a strand of her hair. He brushes it aside, gently, gently, caresses her cheek with the barest of touches, catches her chin and tilts her face.

He frowns then, as if he is not sure of what he is doing. But Bonnie is sure. She is sure that his touch is for her alone, that his hand was made to cup her face, that his lips should be a hair's breadth from hers, that his lips shouldn't be a hair's breadth from hers, that they should be on hers, hot and whispering and incendiary.

"You were the one I dreamt of all those years ago," she gasps against his lips, while she feels herself swallowed by him, drowning in the warmth and smell of him, his gaping jacket enveloping the two of them, his blazing presence blotting out her vision until there is nothing.

* * *

"Bonnie. My dear!"

The words are faint, as if the speaker is at the bottom of a well.

"Wake up."

Madame Pearce's face, blurred, hovers over her.

Bonnie frowns and blinks. Is she dreaming?

"Are you alright, my dear?"

"What..." Bonnie sits up. She's in her bed. "What happened?"

Madame Pearce peers at her, brow wrinkled. "I was hoping you might tell me. I came home and found you in bed. Leah said you never came to dinner last night."

"No, I..." Bonnie raises a hand to her head. No, she hadn't gone to dinner. But she cannot remember how she got to her bed. "I ... I remember farewelling you..." she says, blinking at Madame Pearce. "And then..."

And then, she had heard the piano. She remembers that. And he had been playing. She remembers that, too.

And then – and then it all comes flooding back to her. The fingertips over her skin, the insistent kisses, his lips hot on her neck.

Bonnie turns, unable to look Madame Pearce in the eye. "I'm – I'm not sure. Never mind me, how was Mrs Lundsden's daughter?"

"Oh, she's alright," the lady says with a dismissive wave. "There are more pressing matters at hand. Robert has gone missing."

* * *

 **No one:**

 **Absolutely no one:**

 **Me: How about if I take years to update this fic?**

 **What can I say, folks? Life's a bitch.**


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